Am I a child or mad? You think me such.
From this dark certainty I cannot come
Without a hope away. Ah! let me speak
And ye will hear. I see you are amazed,
As yet ye cannot find your better selves.
Look from the present danger to the past—
Summon ye next the future from that past—
Can you then live—live, will you, and Egmont gone?
With his breath fails the breath of freedom too!
For you, what pressing dangers he has dared!
For you, he shed his life-blood in the war!
Now doth a jail confine that noble soul,
Where deeds of murder are familiar things.
Perhaps he thinks of you—and hopes. He asks
The help that he was only used to give.
Come, comrade, come, this is too dangerous talk.
Ah, I have not your arms, nor yet your strength;
But I have what you want—a constant heart.
Would it could beat for all. Let my weak breath
Kindle the dormant ashes. I will go,
Like a frail banner flung upon the wind,
Which leads a noble host to victory,
So shall my spirit lead—would ye but know
A gathered people have an awful power.
Nay, lead her hence.
Think, Clara, where you are.
Beneath the glorious heaven which grew more fair
When he, the glorious one, walked free below.
Mark yonder windows, that now, closed and dark,